Beauty in the Broken

I allowed him to touch me.

Applying steady pressure with his thumb, he lowers his body until his maleness envelopes me and his lips ghost over mine. “Put on the dress and come down for lunch.”

Only then does he let go, dragging the pad of his thumb from my clit down my slit in a gentle caress before stepping back. I’m finally free to close my legs, but the knowledge of how cleverly he manipulated me holds me hostage in a trans-like state. Wide-eyed and wide open, I stare at him in both fear and shock. His gaze locks on mine before raking down my body. A bolt of self-conscious awareness zaps me back to the present. Hurriedly, I press my knees together.

His lips pull up in one corner as he takes in the belated gesture. “No underwear.”

“Seriously?” How old is he? Sixteen?

“No wiping away your arousal.”

I dig my nails into the armrests. “What?”

“Ten minutes. Downstairs.”

With those cryptic instructions, he leaves me naked, soaked, and defeated.

Damian

Holy fuck. I knew Lina would be gorgeous, but seeing her naked body almost pushed me over the edge. I’ve never been at the verge of my control, but one look at her tits and spread legs almost had me burying my dick in every hole of her body, right there, on the spot. I ached to touch her so much I forced my hand. Damn. I drag a hand over my face. Her scent still clings to me, making it hard to think about anything other than what waits between her legs. I couldn’t have guessed how responsive her body would be. I’m all but floating into the dining room, feeling like I’m high. Anne and Zane are seated at the table, their plates loaded.

“Dami.” Zane puts down his fork. “I was looking for you.”

“Checking up on me?” I’m only half-joking. I hate being crowded. His fallen expression softens my heart. “I took Lina shopping,” I say, taking my seat.

Anne, who is sitting on my right, cups my hand. “I’m sorry about last night. I can’t even begin to imagine how hard that must’ve been for you.”

“Me?” I pull my hand away. Not nearly as hard as for Lina. “I made her wear that dress.”

Approval lights up her face. She thinks I humiliated my wife on purpose. Worse, she takes pleasure from the knowledge. I like her less and less. If she weren’t Zane’s sister and Lina didn’t invite her to stay, I wouldn’t have thought twice about dumping her back on the street.

Zane hands me a newspaper lying next to his plate. “I take it you haven’t seen today’s news.”

It’s not front-page news, but it’s on the inside left page, which makes it just as bad. A color photo of Lina in that sexy-as-sin red dress takes up three columns. It shows her from the side, displaying a badly torn-up and healed-over arm with maximum impact.

“It’s ugly,” Zane says.

My voice hardens. “Are you saying my wife is ugly?”

“I was referring to the article.”

“What article?” a soft voice asks from the door.

Lina stands in the frame, dressed in the pink dress that hugs her breasts and flares out around her tiny waist. I don’t miss how Anne and Zane’s gazes immediately fix on Lina’s arms.

Folding the newspaper in half, I say, “Nothing.”

She walks to me with confident steps, each one reminding me she’s naked underneath that skirt. Her gait is stubborn, as is the tilt of her chin when she takes the paper from my hand.

I don’t fight her. It’s not that I don’t want to spare her more humiliation, not that I think her scars are something to be humiliated about, but she’ll have to learn to stand her ground. These types of articles aren’t going away. After what I’m about to do to Dalton Diamonds, it’ll only get worse.

She turns to the offensive page. Her expression gives nothing away as she reads. She takes her time before folding the paper neatly and handing it back to me.

“Lina,” Anne says. “I’m sorry.”

Lina takes her seat. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I feel bad for you.” Anne shoots me a look. “For you, too, Damian.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about it,” Zane says with a stern look at his sister.

Acting unaffected, Lina attacks the salad on her plate like a locust who landed in a crop of lettuce during drought season.

“Damian.” Anne covers my hand again. “I have to talk to you.”

Lina’s gaze shifts to our hands for the briefest of moments.

“Talk,” I say rudely around a forkful of salad.

She squeezes my fingers. “In private.”

I pull away. “I don’t keep secrets from Lina.” Not much.

Anne clears her throat. “I can’t talk about it in front of everyone.” At everyone, her eyes dart toward Lina.

“Then I don’t want to hear it.”

She purses her lips but doesn’t argue.

“I ordered the bat boxes,” I tell Lina to change the subject.